


Fallout

by problematic_child



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, i really don't want to tag anything else because of spoilers welp, post-trespasser ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4765799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematic_child/pseuds/problematic_child
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Major Trespasser spoilers. Post ending.</p><p>Lavellan comes to terms. </p><p>And Dorian is there – as he will always be – for the fallout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallout

**Author's Note:**

> Its been a day after Trespasser and I'm not okay. This is your second warning for massive spoilers.

Dorian is awake.

It is a very sudden thing; none of the usual bleary eyed bewilderment that usually finds him in the mornings. One moment he was asleep, and now he is not, staring at the ceiling. It was as if there had been some noise great enough to wake him, but there is only silence. The light from the moon comes in through the windows, illuminating the wooden beams above him. It gives them some kind of ghostly shine. They almost do not seem real.

The space beside Dorian is empty. But there is a weight on the end of the bed, and so Dorian sits up, knowing exactly who will be there.

Lavellan’s back is turned to him. He's hunched over himself, legs folded underneath him. Wearing only light trousers, the bones of his spine stick out in sharp relief. With one hand – his only hand, now – he cups the bandaged stump of his arm. This is a first. In the few short days that have passed, Lavellan has outright refused to look at it, let alone touch. When he had addressed the Exalted Council, it had been Dorian who helped him back into his jacket. He had pinned back the sleeve, and felt his heart break with how staunchly Lavellan turned his head away.

Maybe this development alone is what woke Dorian. Guess he’ll never know.

Lavellan turns his head. His eyes glint in the dark. For one ghastly moment, it’s as though the Anchor is still there with all its poison, streaming out through his eyes. But it’s only the moonlight reflecting off of them.

“It hurts,” he says.

Dorian doesn’t understand immediately. He only lost the arm a few days past; of course it still hurts. When they’d found him at the Eluvian that had closed behind Solas, knelt with his hand almost fixed in the air, the Anchor had still been active. But something was different.

 _“He bought me some time. It needs to come off.”_ Was all Lavellan had said then. And, back at Halamshiral, it had been hell to watch. Dorian had been the one to hold him down as Lavellan arched up off the table, screaming with eyes blown wide in agony, and left Dorian barely able to get words of comfort out around his own sobbing. The future had been uncertain regardless, with the fate of the Inquisition and Tevinter muddying the way, but he had never thought that this…

Dorian has to go back soon. He hasn’t brought it up in the past few days. With the Inquisition disbanded, Skyhold slowly emptying and things as they are, Lavellan needs him here. He’s yet to say it, but in their years together Dorian has come to know that the most important things often don’t need saying. But Tevinter and his father’s vacant place in the Magisterium are still very real. He cannot stay forever, and with each day that passes in this empty castle it pains Dorian more and more.

With the blankets pooling around his waist, Dorian isn’t sure what to say. Of course it hurts, but what is Lavellan actually trying to say? He’s a man of few words, and even if the ones he has are something sarcastic or flippant, they are always profound. He always considers each and every one before speaking. This is not some obvious statement, nor is he saying it to fill the silence. It’s only two words, but they mean so much more.

Dorian realises it with a start. It isn’t the arm that’s hurting Lavellan. It’s the hand that he no longer has. A phantom pain that cannot be eased. Typical in people who have lost limbs, Dorian has heard. At the end of the bed, Lavellan turns away again. His fingers clutch at his arm again impulsively.

Dorian moves. He crawls the length of the bed, and settles behind Lavellan on his knees. Lavellan doesn’t turn, but he doesn’t shake off Dorian’s hand when it finds his shoulder; the one with the arm that’s still whole. Dorian moves a little closer, pulling Lavellan back against his chest. Drops a kiss in the juncture of his neck. Doesn’t know what to do.

Lavellan doesn’t relax against him. His shoulders are shaking, but Dorian doesn’t think that it’s anything to do with the cold. His other hand finds Lavellan’s other shoulder, and persists even when Lavellan stiffens against him.

“Dorian.” Lavellan says as Dorian’s hand moves downward. It isn’t telling him to stop. Lavellan has said his name like that before; when they travelled the Hinterlands and Lavellan stopped him from stepping in mud, and as they walked into the empty Gull and Tavern the day Dorian’s father came to Redcliffe. It’s a warning. A warning to be careful, a warning to be gentle? Lavellan must surely know Dorian will be both. He says it in case it might hurt, to be sure. But who does he mean?  

“Amatus.” A patient murmur as Dorian’s fingers find Lavellan’s. And Lavellan gasps, but not from pain. It’s a shaky, tearful sound as he presses himself back against Dorian, breathing hard, as something he’s been carrying since Solas and the Qunari finally leaves him. When Lavellan turns into Dorian, pressing his face against his chest, Dorian presses his mouth against his hair and rocks him through the shuddering breaths that follow.

Lavellan comes to terms.

And Dorian is there – as he will always be – for the fallout.


End file.
